


Wisp of Smoke

by LonelySparrow



Category: One Direction
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelySparrow/pseuds/LonelySparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, Harry. Please stop calling. Please stop ringing me because I'm not the same person you're looking for anymore. The person you're looking for is gone. Like a wisp of smoke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wisp of Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a Zarry. I thought I'd start with a drabble to get a feel for the pairing. I love reading Zarry, but I've never written it. I'm not sure how I feel about this so I would appreciate some comments or concrit about the idea and what you thought of it. Thank you for taking the time to read this.
> 
> As always, please do not show to any persons mentioned/involved/affiliated with. This is just for my entertainment and perhaps yours.
> 
> Thank you.

I made you a cup of tea every morning. No sugar. Just a splash of milk. I used to sing you to sleep because the sound of the tires and the humming of the fridge and the TV on the bus kept you from falling into slumber. I used to pet your curls away from your forehead when you weren’t feeling well or drank too much. I cuddled you when you were tired and I kissed you when you were angry. I held your hand when you were nervous and bouncing on the balls of your feet. I used to watch your every movement because you were something special and I knew that if I blinked you’d disappear. 

But that’s how things used to be. Somewhere along the way I did what I tried so hard not to do. I blinked.

I’m not the one to hold you when you cry anymore. I’m not the one who watches the goosepimples prickle the flesh of your naked back as the sweat cools there. I’m not the one who wipes away your tears after a bad performance or the one who counts the green and gray flecks in your eyes. I can’t kiss you behind your ear. There aren’t scratches on your back or bruises on your hips. I can’t spell out those three words that I was so afraid to say on your shoulder as you pillow your head on my chest. I can’t laugh at your lame jokes. I can’t wear half my sweaters because you’ve stolen them and they remind me of you. Hell, sometimes I can’t fucking breathe. 

I don’t know how to do this anymore. Because we were a spark that turned into an inferno. It’s not like I can fly halfway around the world to forget you, like you try so hard to do to me. I have obligations to maintain. Obligations that you like to abandon for short bursts of time. You claim you need a break. But you’re just hiding. You’re being a coward. Because at three a.m. when you’re way past gone you call me up and tell me you miss me and that you’re sorry and you can’t stand to be without me.

Sometimes I listen. Sometimes I hang up.

And sometimes I see you. In the papers, in the window of our favorite restaurant, in the mirror behind me in the bathroom as I get ready for the show, in the same room as we answer questions we’re sick of answering. I always see you because we’re always together but sometimes I really see you. I see you for what you really are.

Smoke. 

Smoke that choked my lungs and contaminated me. Smoke that suffocated and stamped everything out. Because I gave to you so much more than you would ever give me and I can’t get it back. You’ve burned it all up. Everything I had wasn’t enough. You wanted more.

Well I’ve got nothing now.

So, Harry. Please stop calling. Please stop ringing me because I’m not the same person you’re looking for anymore. The person you’re looking for is gone. Like a wisp of smoke.


End file.
